Chapter Text
Naomi was a stunning 22-year-old woman. All her childhood memories were crowded with people of every age telling her how beautiful she was, and that chorus only grew louder as the years passed. At 22, she had a body that could stop any man or woman mid-sentence — lush curves and pale skin that glowed against her raven-black hair and dark, almost liquid eyes. She could've been a model if she'd wanted, everyone said so.
But she had a happy life, truly. Being a kindergarten teacher was the thing she loved most in the whole world. She had friends, a warm family, and a devoted boyfriend, Raye.
They had been together for as long as she could remember — he was her first love. So, naturally, he was the only person she'd ever given herself to. A life without him felt like something too abstract, too unimaginable to picture. They would soon marry, if everything went well.
Anyone would say she had her life figured out.
But — and may God forgive her the sin of avarice — there was one small thing she could complain about. Even having the thought made her feel sinful, guilty. Such thoughts weren't proper for a woman like her; she should be grateful a man like Raye loved her the way he did.
He had a good job, was sharp-minded, and above all, kind…
Too kind.
To be frank, the sex wasn't great. It never had been. Raye was too gentle, too careful, and honestly, Naomi craved something more thrilling, even, god forbid her once more, dangerous. She told herself it was because they were young, that it would sharpen with time, but when they turned 20 and nothing had changed, her faith began to erode, and she resigned herself to the idea that if she loved him, desire had to take a back seat. She tried, gently, to coax him into trying new things, but he stayed stubbornly classic, vanilla.
She never complained, though, and carried the secret alone for the longest time. Until one day, talking with her best friend, she let slip a few details about their sex life. It didn't take Misa long to piece it together.
"Sometimes that's the price we pay for love," Misa said, swirling the ice in her glass. "But if he doesn't satisfy you… well, you can always find other ways."
The phrase lodged itself in her mind and wouldn't leave. Cheating? No, she'd never do that. What else could be Misa implying then? Masturbation? Maybe…
Since she and Raye had been together so long, she'd rarely explored anything beyond what he gave her in bed. Maybe a few fumbling attempts as a young teenager, though she barely remembered them. She didn't even know what she liked. What if she simply wasn't wired for pleasure at all? It seemed possible.
And yet, she did feel a pull, an appetite. What sparked it, she couldn't say.
One day, Raye left on a business trip with his father; he would one day inherit the family company, so for now he had to trail his father across long trips abroad. They were in China this time, and wouldn't return for a fortnight.
It left Naomi alone with too much time to sit with her thoughts about her life and her relationship. She missed him, she loved him, that much was beyond question. But alone in the quiet apartment, a hot ripple of excitement moved through her.
No, she shouldn't… or—Could she?
The truth was, Misa's words wouldn't let her go, and it had been so long since she'd been truly alone that she barely remembered what her life had looked like before Raye. They'd been together seven years, living under the same roof since they were 18. But now… well, why not?
This wasn't wrong. This wasn't cheating. She was only discovering herself. She repeated the thought like a small prayer as she opened her laptop carefully, as though some phantom might be watching from the shadows of that September night pressing against the window. Already in her pajamas, she crept to the bed they shared, easing herself onto it. Naomi lay on her side, propped up on one elbow with her head resting in her open palm, the laptop glowing in front of her. She opened Google and typed the first thing that came to mind, while her other hand slid slowly beneath the waistband of her pajamas and panties.
The first touch was electric. It came as a mix of pleasure, arousal, and the adrenaline of doing something she wasn't supposed to. Carefully, in an incognito tab, she began scrolling through the pages Google suggested. Naomi had never done this before — she knew so little about any of it. So she simply watched, letting her fingers move slowly, following her instinct more than any plan, while she tried to relax.
The sheer volume of it stunned her — an endless scroll of videos, most with barely a hint of restraint. The longer she watched, the more her fascination deepened. And for the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt herself grow aroused. A warmth pooled low in her body making her instantly wet. Yet she couldn't tell whether it was the scenes themselves stirring her, or the thrill of doing something she believed was forbidden. The line between the two blurred, and she admitted herself to relax more and let the pleasure consume her.
Naomi kept watching. She started with normal heterosexual porn videos, then, when she grew restless, she drifted towards some anal sex videos as well. She wished Raye would fuck her like that… Naomi kept touching herself, sliding in one finger, then two, the same as Raye did. But her own touch felt gentler, delicate. There was something about knowing exactly where to press, exactly when to slow down, that made the whole thing sharper, more alive.
After an hour of lurking, she ended up watching videos of blonde girls being fucked by black men, she discovered there was a whole niche of those videos, probably for people with very specific fetish. She then, even watched lesbic and gay porn, and once you fall down the rabbit hole, it's nearly impossible to climb back out, and Naomi simply wanted to keep watching. She had nothing better to do.
More extreme videos started to appear on the screen; incest and age roleplay, orgy videos… there was something so illicit and filthy about that, depraved, that had her gasping out loud before she could control it.
She'd been touching herself for almost two hours now, and she began to mimic what the girls on screen seemed to be doing. When she circled her clit, it felt far more electric than her fingers ever had inside her — Naomi felt herself teetering right at the edge.
She finally reached orgasm after watching a video of two middle-age women fucking a boy that looked barely tweenty.
The feeling was overwhelming — she realized she'd never felt anything so powerful before. Naomi hovered at the edge of tears, her thighs trembling, almost aching with the force of it. But once the climax faded, guilt crept in, leaving her feeling dirty.
Naomi showered afterward, as if the water could rinse away the sin she'd just committed. She didn't even believe in God, not really — she just felt… strange about what had happened.
However, the feeling wouldn’t last.
In the days that followed, Naomi couldn't stop thinking about the videos she'd watched in the solitude of her house. Even at work, those memories would creep unbidden into her mind, and she'd feel herself grow slick with wanting. She tried to ignore it at first, but by the third night the craving became unbearable, and she found herself desperate to watch again, just once more.
That's how it started — how she ended up watching more, and more often, each video darker than the one before, until she'd cycled through nearly every kink imaginable, touching herself deep into the night. Over those two weeks it hardened into a ritual: she'd rush home from work, desperate for those private hours alone. Some sessions stretched two, even three hours, and she didn't care — once Raye came home, she told herself, she'd stop. Still, some part of her now felt armed with something new, tools she hoped might make sex more thrilling once he was back.
The last day she was alone was the day everything changed. She came home buzzing with pent-up energy after a rough day — some of the kids had misbehaved badly — tired, and craving something to lift her mood. So she did what had become her favorite ritual these past weeks: walked straight to her bedroom, unbuttoning her pants before she'd even reached the bed.
She was feeling like watching something very extreme today. Out of all the things she had found during these weeks, the video of the older woman with younger boys lived in her mind for some reason, so she went with that first. Now she was more experimented with these sites, searching exactly what she wanted to watch seemed much easier.
She also loved scrolling through the comments — the men (and women) down there existed on another level of unhinged entirely, one she found herself savoring in moments like this. She'd read about strangers finishing to the same videos as her, or catch some filthy, elaborate fantasy about what they'd do to the people on screen…
One of the comments this time caught her attention, under one of those role-play incest videos where it was, supposedly, a step mum fucking with her much younger step son, someone left a funny comment. It said; “real stuff in my profile” why would he mean by that? Naomi thought, better quality videos, perhaps?
Curiosity won, and she clicked on the user's profile. What she found there, she wasn't expecting at all.
It was illegal, certainly those videos were real. But she watched, a bit, she felt something she had never felt before. The worst part was that she wasn't disgusted by it, she felt… excited, her blood pounding harder, faster, through every inch of her body. But the moment she realized what she was doing, she stopped. Closed the page and shut off the computer.
She sat in silence for a few seconds, forcing her mind elsewhere. This wasn't something she wanted to dwell on… it had been an accident.
"Did you miss me love?" Raye said, kissing her deeply the moment he walked through the door.
Her actions spoke louder than her words— no sooner had Raye set foot inside than Naomi lunged at him.
"Easy..." he laughed, startled by how fast she'd started tearing at his clothes. "Let's go to the bedroom."
"No, i want you right here." Her back pressed against the dinner table, she trailed kisses down his neck, her fingers already working his belt loose.
"What happened these two weeks—" he started to joke, but the words died in his throat when Naomi wrapped her hand around the growing bulge in his pants and began to stroke.
"Nothing," she murmured against his neck. "I just missed you."